


Like One of Those Christmas Movies

by delighted



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Holidays, M/M, Netflix and Chill, Pining, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Sweet/Hot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 04:01:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16865755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delighted/pseuds/delighted
Summary: Ever since Danny realized he loves Steve in a whole lot more than the best-friends-and-partners kind of way, it’s been slowly breaking his heart into a million tiny pieces. So he spends his evenings gluing his heart back together with cocoa and marshmallows and sappy Christmas movies.





	Like One of Those Christmas Movies

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not even going to pretend here. I’m a hopeless fucking romantic, alright? And dammit, but I love those damn movies. Just. Shush.
> 
> *tiny content note* this story makes use of something that happened in The Anniversary Episode about the restaurant. Just in case you’re behind watching the show and don’t want spoilers.

He’s not sick. At least, not in the conventional sense. He isn’t going to pretend he’s feeling great. Because he isn’t. But it’s nothing big, nothing important, nothing he can’t handle. He’s got it completely under control, alright? He just needs to be left alone, left to his evening ritual. His sweats, sofa, Netflix ritual. If that happens to include a massive mug of hot cocoa with too many mini marshmallows, and if the programs he selects happen to be those cheesy holiday romances, well for godsake just don’t tell Steve, okay? And, he’ll be okay. He will get over it, he always does. Eventually he’ll be okay.

He just needs to wallow for a little bit longer.

Yes, he knows it’s wallowing. Not really sure what all he’s wallowing  _over_... missing home like he always does this time of year, hating being alone this time of year more than any other time of year (which is saying a lot, because he really hates being alone no matter what time of year it is). Or the fact that this year, for whatever stupid ass reason, he finally caved. Said Rachel could take the kids to England for Christmas. In fairness to her, she had pointed out that Danny was invited as well. But he’s not an idiot. Or rather, he is but he knows he is. If Danny went with Rachel home for Christmas—England for Christmas, magical England at its most magical—he’d end up in her bed, he knows that. And with their luck, she’d end up pregnant again. And neither of those things are things Danny needs in his life right now, thank you. Because even if he’d fall for it, be swept away by the spirit of the holidays, the romance of it... life with Rachel is not what he wants it to be. It never was. Never will be.

He just has a really hard time remembering that sometimes.

So he copes by watching really corny, really predictable, really not terribly well written or acted or produced Christmas movies. And dammit but they help. They help a lot, alright? 

Thing is. Steve’s kinda started to work out that something’s up. Now that he’s decided he’s a detective at heart (and genetically), he’s become just a tiny bit obnoxious about it. At least from Danny’s perspective. Not that Steve hasn’t always nosed his way into Danny’s personal life. Because, obviously, he has. It’s just felt a little worse lately. Which, of course, might have something to do with the fact that Danny’s actually hiding something he really doesn’t want Steve finding out.

Yeah, alright, Steve might have a point.

But Steve would try and cheer Danny up. Probably concoct some ridiculous idea that they should do something special for Christmas. Go somewhere, just the two of them. He’s been suggesting it ever since they agreed to quit the restaurant. They need a break, Steve keeps insisting. Something fun, something relaxing, something just for them. Danny keeps brushing him off. And it’s not like he doesn’t know why. He maybe pretends he doesn’t, but he knows why. 

And that. Well, that’d be the other reason why Danny’s attempting every night to lose himself completely in sappy holiday romantic unreality. Okay. Maybe the main reason. Because ever since Steve admitted he doesn’t want to give up being a cop, ever since that adorable moment of his confession to Danny. Ever fucking since then. Danny for some stupid reason has started to believe that he’s in love with Steve.

At first he assumed it was just relief. He’d been making himself so sick for so long over the damn restaurant. And he’s not completely unaware that he and Steve fought a good deal more than  _a little more than usual_  during that whole disaster. So it had been easy to think he was just feeling grateful to Steve for having been the one to say “What the hell are we doing?” 

It hadn’t taken long for Danny to realize there was more to it than that. It  _had_  taken him a while to grasp that there was a whole lot more to it. And he’s a total idiot for not seeing it sooner. But he sees it now. Which makes it on the one hand easier and on the other hand a whole lot harder. Because he can’t pretend it’s something else now. Now it’s just totally fucking obvious: Danny loves Steve in a whole lot more than the best-friends-and-partners kind of way. And it’s slowly breaking his heart into a million tiny pieces. So he spends his evenings gluing his heart back together with cocoa and marshmallows and unbelievable Christmas fluff.

He knows he’s making Steve worried. Each night this week, he’s blown off Steve’s “Hey buddy, let’s go out for burgers” and “How about RumFire for drinks?” and “Pizza and movie at mine?” And he’s kind of vaguely claimed to be too tired, or needing to do chores, or just wanting a night in and read his book. Each time Steve’s been understanding. He doesn’t push, doesn’t make Danny feel guilty, doesn’t say anything to make him feel uneasy.

Which of course is making Danny feel like absolute shit.

It’s bad enough that by Friday afternoon Danny starts to think he’ll probably give in—partly to ease his conscience, partly to get Steve off his back. So when the end of the day comes, and Steve heads out before Danny does, calling “Have a good weekend, buddy!” on his way out the door, Danny just stands there, mouth open, for about a minute before he manages to pulls himself together, decides to not question it, and heads to the store to stock up on cocoa, marshmallows, and comfort food snacks—then home.

If he puts a shot of whiskey in his cocoa, maybe he just needs a little help relaxing. It doesn’t have anything to do with Steve’s odd lack of trying to get him to do something. And if his second cup is equal parts whiskey and cocoa, it isn’t because Steve didn’t suggest surfing, or doing something over the weekend. Naw, it’s just that chocolate and whiskey go really well together. Yep.

Unfortunately, it’s making him a bit...  _mopey_. 

Since he’d worked himself into a place of accepting that he’d spend tonight with Steve, he’s honestly a bit weirded out that it didn’t happen. Not to imply that Steve doesn’t have a life outside work and Danny, but... well, he kinda doesn’t. Danny used to give him a hard time about it, but he long ago gave that up and tends to go with it now, begrudgingly allowing Steve to butt in on his own life whenever the big oaf feels like it. 

So sue him if Danny’s working himself into a bit of a mulish, sleepy, sad frenzy over what Steve had to do tonight that  _didn’t_  involve harassing Danny into having some fun.

Which probably explains why Danny’s been rubbing his phone between his hands, trying to keep himself from opening the tracking app he and Steve both have on their phones so they can find each other when they need to, if they don’t answer a call. (The particular incident, a few years back, that led to them finally taking that step had involved them agreeing to two rules—one, never shit without taking your phone with you, and two, it’s okay to track the whereabouts of your partner at any time and for any reason, because it’s better than the fight that happens if you don’t and freak out and break down the damn door.)

He checks on Steve fairly regularly. Mostly to reassure himself the tracker’s actually working. But sometimes he does it just to know Steve’s safe. He’s never once done it out of suspicion. Or doubt. Or...  _jealousy_? Shit.

Oh fuck. He is. He’s jealous. He’s thinking Steve’s got plans with someone—with someone  _else_. Someone other than Danny. He tosses the phone away from him like it’s burned him.  _Get it together, Williams_ , he tells himself. This is getting a little ridiculous. Steve’s a grown man, with a life.  _A life that believe it or not actually does include people other than you, you idiot_. He sighs. Lets his head fall back against the sofa, allows himself a long deep sigh that’s probably closer to a groan, decides he’s a horrible example of a human being when he finds the corners of his eyes are wet, wipes the tears roughly away, and focuses back on the movie.

He makes it till the next about-to-be-embarrassing scene (where the heroine will not doubt humiliate herself in a completely adorable way that will cause the leading man to realize he’s falling for her) before he pauses the movie and grabs for his phone—and opens the tracking app. Steve’s little dot is moving steadily through his neighborhood, leaving a pattern Danny easily recognizes as the Steve-jogging-with-Eddie pattern.

He really is a complete idiot. And he’s in so fucking much trouble. Because he instantly feels five hundred percent better, and when he presses play, he makes it through the rest of the movie with a lot more enjoyment than he’d been experiencing before.

Something of his worry, his jealousy, his hurt, seeps into his dreams however. They play like a terrifying mix of Christmas movies and actual history, in which Steve is a duke of some obscure land who crashes his plane in a snowy forest and Danny is a chef who has to save Steve (and then marry him) by baking and decorating a gingerbread replica of Five-0 headquarters. When he wakes in the morning, he’s already on a sugar high and feeling strangely turned on.

He really needs to do something about the mess his life’s become. Starting with making himself a really big, really strong cup of coffee. And he swears he doesn’t think about something else big and strong he’d prefer to bring to his lips. Just shut up.

He does laundry, does some cleaning. Thinks about getting the Christmas decorations out, but with Thanksgiving so early this year, it feels too soon. (Please don’t point out that it’s obviously not too soon to watch Christmas movies, just. Don’t.) Probably he should go to the store and get food that’s not powdered drink mix, or tiny bits of sugary fluff. He’ll need real food on Wednesday when the kids come over. But till then, well. Till then he’s going to allow himself to stay in this cozy bubble of saccharine unreality. Just a few more days, then he’ll rejoin the land of the living, leaving behind snowy-romance-land. Promise.

In which case he’d better make the most of it. So he showers, puts on a clean pair of sweats, some Christmas themed socks, and a faded old tee shirt with a green block print pineapple and “Mele Kalikimaka” scrawled across the front in festive script. It had been Steve’s very first Christmas present to him, and yes, it’s faded because he’s worn it a lot over the years. Never in public, of course. Always only at home. But it’s soft, it’s worn, it’s  _comfort_ , and those are things Danny very much craves right now.

He makes himself a sandwich, and maybe he’s a little bit indulgent with it, putting on extra sauce, toasting the whole thing till the cheese melts, the bread is crispy and warm, and the whole thing threatens to dissolve into a delicious mess on his plate. He pours himself another cup of coffee—there’s about half a mug’s worth left in the pot and he tops it up with hot milk and a scoop of the cocoa powder, skipping the marshmallows because, hey, it’s lunch time. (That made more sense in his head.)

Settling on the sofa with the sandwich, his drink, and a bottle of water as well, Danny pulls the fluffy white winter cable knit throw around him, tucking it in against his cross-legged position in the middle of the sofa so he feels cozy and protected. He brings up Netflix on the TV, and clicks play on the next movie on his list, not even paying attention to which one it is. (Not like it really matters. It’s fluff, it’s a love story, it’s escapist, that’s the whole damn point.)

Turns out it’s another single-dad-with-young-daughter-who-wants-a-new-mom story, and there’s a  _slight_  possibility that Danny’s got a soft spot for those. The potential mom-to-be in this one reminds Danny a little too much of Rachel (sneaking around, plotting coincidences) but ultimately she of course softens. She grows, and she matures, because she falls in love. First by bonding surprisingly with the endearing and plucky young daughter, and then by slowly opening the emotionally wounded dad up to the idea that he really can love again. And it’s sappy, and it’s too sweet, and not realistic at all. And Danny absolutely loves it.

When the movie ends, he cleans up his messy plate from lunch, switches to whiskey in the cocoa rather than coffee, and picks another movie to settle back in with.

He’s just snuggled down further into the blanket, the movie still in the canned-music-and-snowy-stock-footage intro flashing across the screen, when there’s a knock on the door. He groans in response. He wonders if he can get away with ignoring it. He pauses the movie, listens.

“Hey, buddy, it’s just me. Can I come in?”

And shit, that means Steve knows he’s there—probably tracked him on the damn tracker thing. That shit works both ways, and doesn’t Danny know it.

He thinks for a moment about turning the TV off, pretending he was doing something other than lazing on the sofa watching cheesy romances, but honestly, he doesn’t  _want_  to. Maybe that’s some kind of bitter,  _this is all because of you, you big jerk_ resentful bratty-ness. Maybe it’s that part of him is tired of hiding this from Steve. He  _doesn’t_  think that it’s in any part because he imagines this situation could turn into something soft and sweet and romantic on its own. No. He hasn’t had enough whiskey yet for  _that_  to be the case.

Whatever the reason, he does get up. He opens the door, and stands there, kind of aggressively, one hand on the door and the other on the frame, that standard  _and I should let you in why?_  sort of stance. And at first Steve looks startled. But then his eyes rake over Danny’s appearance. His no doubt untidy hair, more stubble than he ordinarily allows, and the obvious tee shirt (he’s under no illusions that Steve doesn’t know  _exactly_  which shirt this is), and down to his thematic socks. Steve brings a hand up to his mouth, pulls on his lower lip, adjusts his stance in that way he sometimes does when he’s rethinking something, then drops his hand and grins.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Danny sighs, and steps aside to let Steve in, expecting him to sweep in, notice what’s on the TV, make a joke about it, and then try and persuade Danny to go surfing or something. But Steve hesitates. An almost-frown forms on his face, and he doesn’t move forward.

“You don’t have to let me in, buddy. If you’re busy, I can just go home.”

And Danny’s sure Steve doesn’t mean to sound as pathetic as he does, but Danny’s not an asshole. Steve was worried about him, he knows that. What he hadn’t been thinking clearly about is that Steve has been missing him as well. So Danny’s heart softens, he grabs Steve by the arm, pulls him inside, and closes the door. He pauses, nodding to the TV.

“Don’t judge me. Shut up and watch with me, or leave. Okay?”

Which is probably an absolutely horrible idea. Sit on the sofa and watch a romance with your crush. Because  _that’s_  how to make your heart feel better. So of course Danny decides to add booze to the mix, because why the hell not.

“I’ll go make you a drink. Be right back.”

He takes his time and makes the cocoa the good way, with hot milk, not water. He adds whiskey but skips the marshmallows, because, Steve. And while he’s making sure it’s properly mixed, and part of his brain tries valiantly to point out that this is truly a spectacularly bad idea, he sasses back to himself:  _yeah I know, but it’s always going to be a bad idea, and that’s perfectly my life right there, so oh well_.

Steve’s sitting on the sofa, and he’s moved the blanket so he’s got some of it, but most is left for Danny, and seriously that does  _not_  do twirly things to Danny’s heart. It’s not clear if Steve’s read the description of the movie, which is displayed on the screen for all to see, but he doesn’t say anything, and when Danny hands him his cocoa, he smiles. And there’s a softness there Danny would not have expected. But there is that whole  _I’m a detective now_  thing Steve’s got going on, so probably Steve’s worked some of it out.

Settling onto the sofa next to Steve, Danny gives one last warning look— _mock me and die_ , he hopes, but more likely it’s  _please don’t say anything_.

“Just press play, Danno,” Steve says, as he takes a sip of his drink. He purrs slightly as he swallows, so Danny figures that’s at least a positive.

There are no children in need of new parents in this one, no secret prince, no mistaken identities. Just a small town, a Christmas tradition, and a lost soul from the city who finds some much needed meaning where she least expects it.

It’s not one of the better ones, Danny thinks. But it’s not awful, and the acting is surprisingly good. If there’s chemistry between the actors it can make up for a lot in terms of less-than-stellar production values, and this pair has chemistry alright. Enough to make you wonder if they didn’t maybe get a little carried away by the whole thing themselves. But what’s really interesting is that Steve seems to have connected with it in some way. Danny pauses about half way in, for bathroom breaks and cocoa refills, grabbing some nibbles from his stash as well, and he’s pretty sure Steve wants to say something about the movie or about something else, Danny’s not sure which. But Steve’s been eyeing him with that strangely soft, slightly questioning expression again, and it makes him anxious, so he glares him down and Steve backs off, laughing softly to himself. Amused, but also content with humoring Danny. And that might please Danny more than he would be happy to admit.

They continue the movie, slowly falling into cozier positions on the sofa—Steve taking more of the blanket, but sharing more of his body’s warmth with Danny in exchange. And Danny tries really hard not to think that it would have been so much better, the past week or so, it would have been so  _so_  much better to have had Steve as his pillow while he binged his Christmas movie therapy sessions.  _So much better_.

When the movie ends, Danny half expects Steve to say  _okay, now let’s go out_  but he doesn’t. He just sits quietly, expectantly—so Danny makes a decision. 

“I was gonna... um. Make some pasta for dinner, then watch another one. If you wanted to stay....” 

And he’s honestly not sure what he expects. Mostly he’s terrified at having basically admitted to Steve that his plan for today consisted entirely of eating food and watching movies. But Steve smiles happily.

“I’d love that, buddy. What can I do to help?”

They wind up in the kitchen, making a simple one-pot pasta thing. And gone are Danny’s attempts at creating something fancy and delectable and worthy of a hefty price tag on the restaurant’s menu. This is pure comfort. It’s egg and cream and pancetta and parm and freaking store-bought dried pasta, and honestly he thinks it’s the best dish he’s made in ages. Steve seems to agree, and they eat it standing there in the kitchen. Right out of the pot, drinking too much red wine and sopping up extra sauce with chunks of slightly stale bread that Steve toasted up with some leftover roasted garlic. And it is without a doubt one of their best times in the kitchen, possibly ever. 

Because one thing the restaurant  _did_  give them was an almost op-like comfort with each other when it comes to making food. Steve knows how to grate the parm the right way ( _yes_  there  _is_  a right way, don’t even fight Danny on this), he knows how much butter Danny likes on the garlic bread, he knows which wine to pick to go with basically anything Danny can cook. And all of that is fantastic, and it’s possibly even the reason why Danny stuck with the restaurant long past when he knew they should have thrown the towel in—because that feeling, of them as partners, working so beautifully together, that’s just fucking addictive, and Danny hadn’t been willing to let it go. 

But now... with the stress of the restaurant gone, that pressure to turn a profit removed... now it’s just them in the kitchen making food for each other. And fuck if that isn’t the biggest goddamn turn-on of Danny’s entire fucking life.

Thing is, though. It sure seems to Danny that Steve’s not entirely unmoved by it himself. 

He’s always been appreciative of Danny’s food, though he hadn’t always been great at expressing it. That’s another thing the restaurant gave them. Steve knows now that simply wolfing food down in silence is not enough to let Danny know he liked it. He’s learned to use words, as well as sounds and gestures, to tell Danny when he likes something. And Steve’s being  _very_  appreciative tonight. Maybe a little  _too_  appreciative. But maybe he’s also realizing how damn nice it is to get to enjoy this with Danny, and not have food be a thing of stress any longer.

Steve washes the dishes while Danny throws something together for dessert—just a little layered thing with some crushed amaretti cookies and mascarpone whipped cream with cinnamon and vin santo. It’s the kind of thing he makes at home, but wouldn’t put on the menu, no matter how many times Steve begged. So of course Steve’s noticed he’s making it, and Danny knows he’s thrilled. But when Steve hugs Danny—actually lifts him up, hugging him tight, growling out “I’m so fucking glad we got out of that”—then grabs his dessert with enthusiasm beyond what any dessert should ever evoke... well, Danny has to admit that he was aiming to get a reaction out of Steve, but  _that_  was way more than he dared hope for. He’s a little giddy with it. And his heart kinda won’t stop pounding. And if he doesn’t get over it fast, certain other things might start throbbing as well. 

He follows Steve out to the sofa, his own dessert in hand, and he pauses in the doorway, watching the back of Steve’s head, relishing the mere presence of Steve on his sofa. Steve, in Danny’s house. And fuck if he doesn’t look  _right_  here. Completely at home, yes—but Steve’s good at making himself at home just about anywhere. It’s more than that. It’s that he somehow fits in Danny’s house. As though he belongs on this sofa, in this room, in this home. And that’s when it hits Danny, squarely in the chest—that what it is, what Danny truly feels... that it’s simply not  _home_  if Steve’s not in it. And that realization makes him stagger back a step or two. 

“Hey, buddy, which one next?”

Danny forces himself to step into the room, take a breath, and head toward the sofa, but it’s hard, because suddenly the whole room looks different. Feels different. _Air_  feels different.

As he sits (yeah, a little further from Steve than he’d been before, but, hi, having a little freak out here) he waves vaguely at the TV in a way he hopes indicates  _next on the list_ , because it seems very much as though he’s not going to be able to talk at all, not unless he can figure out how to calm himself the heck down.

Unfortunately, the next movie on the list isn’t exactly going to be the most helpful thing, because pretty much right away Danny’s fairly certain it’s going to be one of those best-friend romances, and shit, that is  _not_  going to help. A couple times he thinks it’ll be okay. The romantic interest seems in moments like he might be the one. But there’s this continual seeping thread of doubt underneath that. Then there’s the way the best friend looks hurt when he catches the duo kissing, the way the supportive family member seems to know how the best friend feels.

Maybe Steve gets that something’s bothering Danny, or maybe he just gets thirsty, or maybe... maybe? He’s realized the same thing about the movie Danny has, and is likewise affected? Is that even possible...? Whatever his reason, Steve decides it’s time for more cocoa, and he offers to make it, and Danny lets him, because five minutes to himself on the sofa might just be enough for him to get his mind to shut the fuck up.

Yeah, but it’s definitely not going to be nearly enough time to get his _heart_  to shut the fuck up....

Especially not when Steve comes back with two mugs of pleasingly whiskied cocoa, and the one he hands Danny is pillowed with an impossible number of marshmallows, and how did he even know? Danny’s pretty sure he eyes Steve suspiciously, and he thinks that Steve’s cheeks turn the slightest bit pink (though with his tan it’s of course hard to tell), and it’s possible that’s just the whiskey, because holy shit, Steven, is there any cocoa in here at all? And it must be that, combined with the fact that very little oxygen has been getting to Danny’s brain for the past fifteen minutes at least, that’s to blame. Because Danny blurts out “Trying to get me drunk, huh?” Which isn’t  _half_  as bad as the low, deep, rumbling laugh that is Steve’s reply. It’s almost  _feral_. And yep, Danny shivers. And god help him, he loves it.

Steve presses play on the movie like he’s anxious to get back to it, and that cuts the tension a little, because Steve is never excited to watch one of Danny’s soppy romances, and all other complicated contexts aside, that in itself makes Danny pretty damn happy.

Turns out it takes nearly the entire second half of the movie for Romantic Lead to work out that she’s in love with Best Friend, and of course by the time she realizes it he’s left town again, and it takes a push from Supportive Family Member before they wind up together at the very end of the movie, at midnight on New Year’s Eve, of all the impossibly sappy unbelievable things. There’s even a tearful confession—“It’s you, it’s  _always_  been you....” And a sweet, tender kiss under the mistletoe.

Which of course has Danny sniffling into his cocoa. And then he notices Steve’s gone quiet and still. Until he sucks in a breath like he’s working up the courage to speak. Which makes Danny hold his breath.

“Can you imagine that?” Steve’s voice is soft, wistful, tentative. And it throws all of Danny’s angst into sharp contrast. “To fall in love with your best friend. That’s gotta be the most amazing thing.”

“You really think so?” His voice is barely a whisper, and when Steve looks over at him, he forgets what he’d been about to say, because those hazel eyes Danny knows so well have never looked so  _searching_. It feels like they’re looking through his skin, taking him apart with want and need and something that feels very much like regret and hurt and frustration. Which is so fucking perfectly what Danny himself has been feeling that it becomes this jagged, cutting thing—and whatever he might have thought to say before is gone. And in their place new words spring to his lips, unbidden, like he’s not even aware of what they are until they’re spoken, but then he knows... they’re utter truth. “Because it feels like it’s been slowly killing me for the past two weeks.”

And it takes Steve a beat, with a shadow of puzzlement falling across his features before— _and there,_ like a literal fucking light bulb—understanding sparks into being. He sets his mug down, turns sideways on the sofa, takes Danny’s mug from him and sets it down too.

“Buddy, it’s been slowly killing me for  _years_.”

“Fuck.  _Steven_ —” But he doesn’t get another word out, because Steve’s on him like his life depends on it, like the only way either of them will survive this is if they don’t part lips until kissing has somehow made it all perfectly, wonderfully,  _better_.

Which it almost does. After an impossibly long time, and lips that start to hurt, jaws that start to protest, and other parts of the body that make it clear they’d very much like to join in on the action as well. Which is when Danny’s suddenly afraid they’re getting swept away by the whiskey and the movie and the moment. 

He pulls back to try and get a grip, to reassess, but when he does, he sees the look of  _loss_  on Steve’s face, and his heart turns over. “Hey, babe. It’s okay, I just... I need to make sure we realize what we’re doing here.”

Steve looks dazed, and Danny’s honestly worried he won’t be able to speak, but he leans forward, presses another kiss to Danny’s lips (just a soft, light one, as though he needed it in order to form words) then leans back. “Well, I like to think I know what I’m doing. Granted, it’s been a while since I’ve been with a guy, but they say it’s like riding a bike....”

And great. Horny Steve is snarky Steve, and  _that’s_  going to make Danny’s life very interesting.

“Okay, if that’s how we’re going to be. Ditto, only not all that long, and it’s a  _lot better_  than riding a bike, if you’re doing it right.”

(Alright, he’s pleased with himself for that bit of sass. He’s even more pleased when Steve’s eyes dilate further and he bites his bottom lip. Well, they’ve at the very least established that they both know what they’re doing with men’s bodies. But that’s not what Danny had been worried about.)

“Promises, promises,” Steve says softly, letting his hand rest on Danny’s knee, fingers trailing against the inside of his leg, curling gently into the soft indent there, half tickling, half teasing. And completely maddening.

“Right, but I mean.... This is kind of out of the blue, out of nowhere, and, well, I just want to make sure that we’re... thinking clearly.”

Steve sighs, lets his hand drop to the sofa, and Danny immediately regrets the loss of contact. Chuckling somewhat bitterly to himself, Steve looks up at Danny, and the openness, the wonder, the love is so clearly written in his eyes, it damn near takes Danny’s breath away.

“Sometimes it feels like the only thing I  _can_  think clearly about is you.”

Danny’s let his hand fall to the cushion between them, and Steve’s fingers reach out and twine with his, lightly, tentatively, and it’s such a not-Steve gesture, Danny’s amazed by it. He looks down at their hands, and it seems to him that they look  _right_  together. It’s not something he’s ever had cause to notice before, given they don’t exactly go around holding hands. He knows he fits perfectly at Steve’s side, knows that when Steve wraps his arm around Danny’s shoulders, it feels like no one but Danny belongs there, feels like Steve was made just for him. He’s known that, admitted it even, since  _long_  before he’d realized he was in love with the guy. He knows too, that when he slides his arm around Steve’s waist, lets his fingers rest in Steve’s belt loop, it feels like being  _home_. 

And those are powerful feelings, powerful admissions. But looking at their hands, fitting together so perfectly, those feelings seem to take on new meaning, and Danny must not be getting enough oxygen to his brain again because he imagines he feels the familiar weight of a band on his finger, and that startles him back to the present, out of his thoughts, and to the man sitting here before him. This man who is, who has been,  _everything_  to him. And who seems to be saying he feels the same way about him. 

But Danny knows it’s more complicated than that.

“Are we being naive to think this has any chance at all of working? I mean, in the movies they kiss and that’s it. But real life isn’t like that. There’s the next morning, and all the mornings after that. There’s work and family and the rest of the world, and none of that is exactly simple.”

Steve’s expression has softened. His eyebrows raise slightly, he sighs softly, and he nods. “All true. Although I think you’ll find a lot of it is simpler than you think. But I understand your concern, of course I do, buddy. I guess I’ve just had longer to think about it, to imagine what that might look like for us, what our reality would be. I know where the problems will lie, I know who our allies will be. And I know what I’m willing to do to make this work. I know what I  _can_  do to make this work.”

And, alright, Danny’s mouth has fallen slightly open, and Steve reaches his other hand up to close it with a feather light touch of his finger to Danny’s chin. But he knows he should have known. Steve never goes into any situation without three backup plans and an exit strategy. And yes, the backup plan is usually knowing that Danny’s behind him, and the exit strategy is often jump-without-looking, but the fact that Steve’s thought about all of that. Mapped out potential allies. And threats as well. It does something to Danny. Something crazy and wild and utterly, utterly  _Steve_. He feels it like a surge of adrenaline through his blood. Like that boost you get on a case, when you need it most, when the danger’s the highest. That feeling that you can and  _will_  get done what needs to be done.

And the thing is. Danny’s been in a number of relationships. And some of them have been antagonistic at the best of times, some of them have been remarkably supportive. But he’s never, ever felt anything even remotely approaching the feeling he has right now. The feeling like he gets with his work. That centered, calm, inner knowing. That confidence, that boldness. The same fucking feeling when he’s striding directly into the line of fire, reloading as he goes, knowing his shots will find their mark, knowing he’ll walk out on the other side, maybe not unscathed, but  _still going_. And if that isn’t the biggest fucking power trip, the most amazing sense of  _oh my god this might actually be not just possible but fucking fantastic as well_....

“You’ve really done that?” He asks, tightening his grip on Steve’s fingers, moving closer to him on the sofa, wanting to be nearer, needing to be within that warmth, realizing that being in bed with Steve is going to be more amazing than he’s begun to imagine.

Steve knows—Danny can tell—Steve knows he’s won. “Would you like a mission briefing?” He asks, cockily. And how is it possible to look like you’re strutting when you’re sitting down? “I could show you my intel, take you through the drills....” Steve’s moved closer as well, and they’re almost close enough to kiss. If Danny were to lean forward that little bit....

Which of course he does. And he lets Steve kiss him for a good long while, until they’re right back where they’d been before, their mutual interest evident between them. Then Steve leans back, keeping his hold on Danny’s hand, looking deeply in his eyes for confirmation.

“You good?” He asks, and it sounds a lot like when Steve asks him that in the field, seeks an affirmative when they’re walking into a situation and he needs to be reassured that Danny’s going to be okay. And it’s less like it makes  _this_  feel like an op, and more that it makes  _those_  times feel a lot more intimate. Which possibly he’d already known.

“Yeah, babe,” he replies. “I’m good.”

And that’s what Steve needed. He stands, and he pulls Danny with him, leading him by the hand to the bedroom. Steve backs Danny up against the foot of the bed, then steps back, just enough to look him up and down—like he’d done earlier, at the front door, only with more intensity, more heat, and also... more love.

“I like this look on you,” he admits, bringing his hand up to Danny’s chest, circling the pineapple with his fingers, lingering over the lettering. “I can’t believe you still have this shirt. Can’t believe you  _wear_  it.” He’s amused, but more than that, he’s touched, truly touched by Danny’s obvious fondness for the pineapple Christmas shirt. “You wouldn’t even let me  _say_  Mele Kalikimaka until just a couple years ago.” He steps closer, and pulls the shirt carefully up over Danny’s head, tossing it onto the bed behind him.

And it’s not like Steve’s never seen his chest before, it’s not like Danny’s never  _been seen_  by Steve before. But it feels new. Feels utterly unlike it’s ever felt before, being seen by someone, half naked in the bedroom. He feels both more exposed and less. More seen, more looked at, more consumed. And also like he’s being acknowledged. Finally acknowledged. As though Steve’s saying—this, all of this, I’ve looked at and wanted, and now, finally.  _It’s mine_. 

Yes, it’s possessive. Danny hadn’t imagined it wouldn’t be. There’s no way being in a relationship with Steve won’t mean in some sense allowing that he’s going to claim you, possess you, mark you as his for all the world to see. Danny’s not an idiot. It’s also not something Danny has been okay with before. He’s actively resisted it, fought against it. Broken up over it. Time and again. But now. Now he’s falling into it, as they fall back on the bed, falling gratefully. Willingly, totally aware, and more than that,  _wanting_.

And Steve does mark him, with a series of bites along his collarbone. Low enough his shirt will hide them, except possibly the one closest to the front, unless Danny’s suddenly willing to be more conservative with those top buttons. (He’s not.)

Danny loves feeling Steve’s teeth on his skin. The intensity of that, the trust. And it gets at that old, deep, lingering longing. Clearing more of it away. Freeing space for new feelings, new awareness, new longings. One of which is that Danny really needs to feel his hands, his teeth, his lips, on Steve’s skin. 

He gets his hands under Steve’s tee, pushing it up over his smooth, firm back, bunching the shirt under Steve’s arms till he lifts them and allows Danny to pull it all the way off. When he leans back down over Danny, he lets their bare chests rest together, and that sensation—the warmth, the soft hairs tickling—draws gasps out of both of them. And it’s wonderful, and it’s not  _enough_. 

Steve had held his lower body away from Danny’s during his toothy exploration of Danny’s upper body, but now he lowers his hips to rest against Danny’s. Not pressing, not pushing, just resting. But it’s fantastic, feeling the hardness of Steve against his own, through the medium-weight of their weekend lounge pants. And when Danny’s hands find Steve’s ass, he’s pretty sure neither of them are wearing any underwear, which just heightens everything. So does the sound Steve makes when Danny slides his hands under the waistband of Steve’s sweats, grabbing as much of that fabulous ass as he can.

“Do you know,” Steve groans out against Danny’s lips. “How much it drives me crazy when you put your fingers in my belt loops?”

Danny chuckles. “Well,  _now_  I do....”

And Steve realizes his mistake. “ _Shit_.” And then he laughs, pushing himself up away from Danny so he can get a better look. “Actually, you know what. I don’t mind. I love it actually. I love everything you do that drives me crazy. Don’t ever stop.”

And as far as these things go, that’s better than the confessions in the movies, at least in Danny’s book. Not for them the  _my heart knew it was you_  or  _you’re everything my soul needs_  or any of the other lines from the cheesy stuff Danny’s been steeping himself in lately.  _You drive me crazy, don’t ever stop_  feels perfectly them, and he loves it.

“It’s like my own personal Netflix holiday special,” Danny grins, moving his hands off Steve’s ass and up to his back to try and pull him down for a kiss. “Only better.” 

And Steve does kiss him, but only briefly. “I bet none of your movies have really fantastic sex,” he whispers, grinding down into Danny.

“Nope, remarkably sex-free,” Danny agrees, returning his hands to their place under the fabric of Steve’s pants, and attempting to shove them down.

“Well, that’s no good,” Steve grunts as he helps Danny get his pants off, kicking them to the floor and then managing to lift Danny’s ass off the bed, pull his pants down as well, tossing them aside and pouncing back on top of Danny’s now naked body.

“No, well, you’ll just have to make up for that, won’t you?” And honestly, Danny’s impressed that he’s able to form sentences right now, what with Steve’s naked body pressed perfectly all along his own.

“Happy to oblige,” Steve mutters as he rolls over and pulls Danny on top of him, and Danny stutters as he adjusts to the change in position, and it takes him a while to get it, but then he realizes Steve’s perfectly laid out for him to kiss and lick and bite and explore, and hey if that isn’t an absolutely stunning gift, he doesn’t know what is.

He makes the most of it, teasing and tasting, and fingering those tattoos he’s always longed to touch. Finding sensitive spots, like the dip just below Steve’s sternum, which is so ticklish Steve can barely stand it, and ohh, yep, Danny’s thrilled to know that. He stops tormenting him when Steve writhes and whimpers, but he’ll definitely come back to that later. Danny loves the way Steve squirms beneath him. Some strange combination of being overwhelmed by the attention and seeking more pressure, more contact.

“I should have known you’d drive me crazy in bed,” Steve spits out in the middle of a particularly antsy squirm against Danny when he lets his whole weight rest against Steve. 

And probably it’s Danny’s way of pointing out he’s got some level of control now, or maybe he’s trying to see how much it takes before Steve breaks and flips them back over, takes back control. But honestly, it’s so much fun, testing that. Not knowing yet where those lines are, but feeling completely safe pressing past them. There’s always some form of hesitancy with first time sex for Danny. He’s very mindful of boundaries and limits and preferences. But he’s already aware that’s not going to be an issue with Steve. And it’s the most amazing thought he’s had in ages. It’s like he’s in a room full of doors, and ordinarily there’d only be one or two that might open, but with Steve it feels like all of them are open—more than that, like there’s not even a door on the frame, just open spaces where anything is possible—and it’s too much, and it’s everything Danny never dared hope for, and it’s perfectly Steve, and he loves it. 

Instead of flipping them, what Steve does when he can’t take anymore is actually to pull them both on their sides, facing each other. And he puts Danny’s hand on him, reaching across to take Danny in his, and it’s slow and it’s drawn out nearly impossibly. And the eye contact, and the distance enough to be able to see every move, every slick twist and squeeze, is intense and thrilling. And it’s nothing so much as a statement of  _see how much potential there is here_. And he knows it’s just an appetizer—a fucking hot and delicious one, but it  _is_  just a beginning. There will be plenty of time for working up to the five course meal soon. But for now, admitting the truth of that potential is what they need, and this is the perfect way of doing that, and he loves that Steve knew it.

  
They’re tangled together after, Steve’s fingers rubbing through Danny’s as though he’s trying to memorize the feel of them, and it becomes clear that Steve is working himself up to saying something. When he finally does, his tone is soft but insistent. 

“I want to do something special for you for Christmas. I know you’re not looking forward to it, with the kids being away. But you gotta do  _something_ , gotta still celebrate, buddy. What can we do? Can I take you somewhere? What would you like?”

Danny knows it’s been on Steve’s mind, even before all this, and he knew it would come up, just maybe not so soon. And the thing is, he’s just gotten the only thing he really wanted for Christmas (and didn’t dare dream he’d get). Anything else will be icing. Still. There is  _one_  thing he wouldn’t mind....

“I want to have that dinner with the team, at the restaurant, like we planned. But honestly, what I really want is to spend time with you. Just you. Like today... watch movies, make food together, do other stuff naked. Just hole up like it’s winter and we’re snowed in and we have to make the most of it. Is that awful?”

“No, Danny, it’s not awful at all. It sounds wonderful. It sounds perfect. I love it.”

“Yeah?” And maybe he sounds doubtful, or maybe surprised, he’s not really sure, but it obviously bothers Steve.

“Why do you think I wouldn’t? Is that why you were hiding from me what you were doing? All those nights I was worried about you, tried to get you to do something with me....”

And it’s not like Danny hadn’t known Steve was worried. And a little upset. But he sees now that he absolutely underestimated just how worried and upset he’d been. Which is maybe even a little less than he is now, at the idea that Danny’d assumed he wouldn’t want to watch cheesy holiday movies with him.

“Well, mostly that was because I’d figured out that I’m in love with you and I didn’t know what to do about it. But yeah, I did imagine you’d think I was being silly.”

“ _Danny_. Oh, buddy.” And then something seems to occur to him. “Wait, when was it you realized?” He bites his lip, but then he says it: “ _That you love me too.”_ And Danny does not miss, not for one second, what Steve did there.  _Too_.

Danny reaches his hand up and pulls Steve into a kiss, acknowledging wordlessly what they’ll have time to say out loud later. “When you said you wanted out.” And he should have worded that more carefully, because Steve stills for a moment before he realizes what Danny means.

“Of the restaurant, you mean?”

Danny nods. “It just suddenly made sense, why I hadn’t been able to let go of my old dream, even when it was so clear it wasn’t what I’d hoped it would be. Because I needed to have a way to stay _partners_ with you. So once you said you wanted to stay a cop, well. I knew that’s what I needed to do too.”

“You are impossibly adorable and sweet. And I will watch Christmas movies with you every single day of the year, Daniel, if that’s what you want. I’ll take you to stay in a snow-covered castle, if that’s what you want, buddy. I just want to make you happy.”

And, okay, Danny’s melting a little bit here. But he’s also amused. “I don’t need that. I don’t  _want_  it, that unrealistic romance, that improbable happily ever after.” He pauses, twisting in Steve’s arms to look up at him. “You know what I really like? What matters to me, is stuff like cooking and eating together. You knowing which wine to open, making garlic bread while I make pasta, without me even saying anything. That’s my version of the midnight confession under the mistletoe.”

Steve’s moved by that, Danny can tell. But he covers it nicely—“Yeah, but you gotta admit. I am kinda like your knight in shining armor, right?”

Part of Danny wants to deny it. To say that’s a trite and dated notion, and not only does he not need a knight, he doesn’t want one, and if anything  _he’s_  the knight. But the thing is... well, it’s not entirely  _not true_. Steve has rescued him more times than he could count, and in more ways than he could express. But beyond all that, there’s this sense that, in whatever way he might frame it, Steve  _is_  that person, in the innermost depths of Danny’s muddled heart. So he smiles, and he brings Steve’s hand to his lips and kisses it. “Something like that,” he says, and then before he can watch the smug take over Steve’s face, he lays back against that solid chest, closes his eyes, and lets himself drift towards sleep. 

He almost misses it when Steve whispers back. “ _And you’re mine_ , buddy.”

And Danny falls asleep with something approaching a smug grin of his own.

  
At some point in the night, he wakes to find he’s rock solid hard, and someone else must be as well, as Steve’s nuzzling at his neck, rutting against his hip, and they’re basically a tangle of limbs and hard places and bristly hair rubbing, and fuck if it isn’t the best damn way to wake up. Although it’s a little like neither of them are fully awake, and they fumble and tug and kiss and lick, and work their way sleepily toward their mutual release, and Danny’s pretty sure that Steve cleans them up with his beloved pineapple shirt, but it’ll wash, and it was totally worth it, because they fall swiftly asleep again, and this time they sleep till it’s light out.

When they stir to life this time, Steve’s got a hold of his hand again, and Danny’s head’s wound up back on Steve’s chest like it’s the best damn pillow ever which he thinks probably it is. He presses a kiss to it, as if in thanks, and is rewarded by the vibration setting as Steve chuckles. 

“ _This_  is how to start a Sunday. Damn. I’ve been doing it wrong all these years.”

Danny grins and cuddles closer, and Steve squeezes his hand. 

“You are the perfect bed mate, buddy,” Steve says, his fingers resuming their exploration of Danny’s hand. “Fantastically cuddly. I love that. Thank you.”

And it’s not like Danny’s thought about what their morning-after conversation would be, but this was certainly not it. He wants to shift so he can look up at Steve, but he’s not ready to move away from his wonderfully warm embrace. 

“I could say the same about you, babe,” he says, against Steve’s chest. And probably he should have been more careful with his tone, to avoid sounding so surprised, because of course Steve’s offended again.

“Always with the shock, Danny. I might almost think you’ve assumed I would be a horrible partner, and that’s what’s kept you from my bed all these years.”

Danny must have stopped breathing, or gone too still or something, because Steve is the one to break the contact, to pull back, to move so Danny has to look him in the eye.

“It’s true, isn’t it.” And his tone is flat, and hurt, but also as though he understands something that had been puzzling him. “Like you didn’t want me to know about the movies. Shit, Danny. What do I have to do to prove to you I’m not like that?” He sits back against the pillows and pulls Danny against him, settling them back into their cuddling positions. “How can I convince you that  _this_  is real. So very fucking real.”

Danny huffs out an almost-laugh. “I think you’re doing a pretty good job of it right now, babe.”

“But I don’t want you to keep holding out on me. Not if we’re doing this.” He brings Danny’s hand up to his lips for a kiss like Danny’d done before. “You’ve opened the flood gates now, buddy. Can’t stuff this back in the box now it’s out.”

Danny’s almost-laugh becomes a full laugh, as he turns onto his stomach and pushes up on his elbows to look Steve in the eyes. “Alright, I get it. And I do believe you, babe. Try not to think of you surprising me as a bad thing. Just because I didn’t think we could have this...” and he waves around them at the messy bed. “Well, I’m so fucking glad I was wrong, but it doesn’t mean it’s your fault any more than it’s mine for being too scared to even try.” He sighs, falls forward onto Steve’s chest, kissing and licking until Steve starts squirming. “Look. What we’ve had, without this part, has been the best thing in my life other than my kids, okay? So, yeah, I didn’t want to fuck that up. It would have killed me.”

“And that’s changed now?” Steve’s voice is almost a whisper.

“Yeah, babe. That’s changed.”

But Danny doesn’t want to spend too much time dwelling on  _might have beens_ , and at the same time, he’s realized that neither of them are wearing anything. Because his hand has been creeping lower and lower on Steve’s chest, and it dips below the sheet now, and before it even gets there, Steve’s rising up to meet him, and there’s another perfect metaphor for you, because damn if that isn’t exactly what Danny’s feeling right now. Steve’s meeting him at every step. And he knows he should not be surprised by that, but dangit, he is, and maybe that’s just his own old hang-ups about his value and his worth in this life, and to what degree he even deserves happiness, but fuck. This is sure making him feel worthy of a whole lot more than he’s ever imagined, because it is so very much a fucking ego boosting thing to watch Steve’s dick swell to fullness from the barest touch of Danny’s hand. And if that sounds like a dumb way to acquire some much needed self-esteem, well, come up with something better and let him know. Meanwhile, he’ll just be here, making the most of this.

And yes, he wants his mouth around it, but it’s the first time he’s been this close, and he’s frankly a little fucking mesmerized. It probably sounds strange to say, but he’s pretty sure he’s got a bit of a crush on Steve’s dick. It’s just got so damn much personality. And he laughs, as he thinks it, because of course it makes so much sense. The man is so fucking cocky. That damn sexy strut. The way he sticks his hips out, the infuriating way he hoists his holster, hand on his gun. And that maddening shifting of his stance when he’s considering something, like he’d done with Danny the day before. It’s all centered on his damn crotch. So, yeah, Steve’s dick is like the center of his personality, and it’s taunting Danny, as it stands there, wavering, throbbing, and shit, already starting to leak. 

He can’t resist any longer, he reaches out with his tongue and laps at it, and of course Steve tastes like the sea. And Danny loves it. And he wants to look more, wants to touch more, but now he’s got a taste, he’s lost to it, so he lifts himself into a better position, easing his bad knee into something comfortable, and he sinks down into the heat and the scent and the flavor, the soft silkiness feeling so right against his lips, the pulsing and juttering as Steve gasps into the sensations causing Danny’s own dick to fill, and a groan of his own to escape between slurps.

“Shit, Danny, I always knew your mouth would be amazing like this,” Steve says, nearly breathless, and Danny grins briefly before resuming. That Steve thought of him like this.... Yeah, he likes knowing that. Likes it a  _lot_.

And maybe Steve’s anticipation plays into it, because Danny knows he’s a little bit out of practice (although his own enjoyment of it probably helps), but Steve doesn’t last very long, and almost as soon as Danny’s swallowed it all down, Steve’s pulling him up and kissing him so desperately that Danny wants to fall against him and give in completely to whatever Steve’s got on his mind.

“I would have thought you’d relax at least a little bit after that,” Danny murmurs when Steve stops for air. And as though he takes offense at the very notion, Steve shoves Danny over and begins a very enthusiastic and highly energetic taste test of Danny’s body.

Danny, for what it’s worth, hadn’t bothered to get explicit in terms of what he imagined Steve might be like in bed (he was more concerned with trying  _not_  to think about that), but it does surprise him, how silent and serious Steve gets. Although, maybe it shouldn’t, because it’s honestly a little like how he gets on ops. Driven. Intense. And in it for all he’s worth. 

That’s the thought that nearly does Danny in, although that’s also partly because Steve’s fingers keep slipping a little too low as he holds Danny in place while he takes his time licking patterns along his length. While for Danny sex is about getting lost in it, for Steve it’s clearly about being totally and intensely present. And those two approaches are combining to create this incredible push and pull and swirl of sensations as Danny falls away from awareness only to be brought sharply back into it with heightened, crystal clarity. 

And fuck, but he loves it. He also loves it when Steve pulls off just before Danny can’t take anymore, and he aims with such skill, marking Danny’s chest in perfect, arching streaks which he admires with a grin that’s a match for his feral laugh of earlier, before descending on Danny to lick him clean with so much energy and relish that Danny’s left buzzing and tingling and ramped up, as opposed to how a fantastic blow job usually makes him feel—limp and languid and relaxed. Huh. Sex as energizer. Probably should have seen that coming as well.

“Do we need to go shopping?” Steve asks, grin still feral, and it takes Danny’s mind a couple moments to catch up—and when it does his dick responds surprisingly eagerly.

“Yeah, we do.” And he knows Steve’s noticed his body’s reaction to the suggestion. “I have no food, either, so....”

“Is there coffee?”

“ _That_ , there is—are you kidding me?”

“Okay, I’ll go make it, you shower. I’ll join you in a minute.”

And Danny appreciates the enthusiasm with which Steve approaches supplying him with caffeine. But he isn't ready for Steve to leave the bed just yet, so he pulls him back for a lingering kiss. Some of the tension does leave Steve’s body as he allows himself to be petted and sweetly caressed, and he purrs into Danny’s embrace. When Danny slows and releases his hold on Steve’s arm, he’s gifted with a grin, and then Steve’s bounding, naked, out of bed and out of the room, calling “Go get clean, Danno!” as he heads to the kitchen to make coffee. 

Danny needs a couple breaths to gather himself, and he has a hint of a thought that he’s going to have to figure out a way to mellow Steve out with sex. There must be something that will do that... and he thinks to himself that it will, if nothing else, be a heck of a lot of fun trying to work that one out. And then he forces himself up out of bed, and into his shower.

  
They stock up on simple foods, things they can make easily while still kissing—nothing that needs constant stirring or basting or fussing. And Danny gets stuff for the kids for Wednesday as well. Steve adds some hot cocoa things Danny’s not bothered with—like the fancy cocoa powder, which Steve insists is worth it, and some of those chocolate-dipped peppermint stirrers, which Steve also suggests is worth it. When he adds a can of whipped cream, with a completely over the top wink, Danny’s not sure they’re talking about hot chocolate anymore, and it’s really not okay to have a hard on in the middle of the grocery store, Steven. Which is of course when Steve picks no fewer than three different types of lube. And alright, time to get going.

They manage to get the groceries put away, though where the lube vanishes to, Danny’s not sure, but he makes another pot of coffee and stands in the middle of his kitchen surveying the possibilities.

“Can I make pancakes, babe? I know they’re not your favorite, but it’s a Williams family Sunday tradition....”

“Hey. Stop thinking you know what I like and what I don’t like, alright? Yeah, I usually prefer eggs, because I need the protein. But all I plan on doing today is this,” he says, reaching behind Danny’s neck, pulling him in for a heated kiss. “So I think I can get by on just carbs and sweetness.”

Fortunately Steve gives Danny some room while he cooks. Although, the looks he gives him don’t really help, and it’s a little distracting the way Steve keeps shifting his hips as he leans against the counter, his lounge pants and lack of underwear doing nothing to disguise his admiration for Danny’s cooking skills. Um. Or something like that.

“I like this too, by the way,” Steve says, sipping from the coffee he’s added whiskey and a dollop of whipped cream to (maybe Danny was wrong about the intended use for that, but he’s not giving up hope). “Being in the kitchen with you. Cooking with you.” 

Danny grins at him in response, and rewards him by taking a break from watching the pancakes cook, leaning up against Steve’s chest. And when Steve reacts by setting his mug down and wrapping his arms around Danny with a soft little sigh, it makes Danny shiver. Yeah, he likes this bit too.

“And I like watching cheesy movies with you, buddy. I really like that,” he mumbles into Danny’s hair, which he hadn’t slicked back—and Steve’s enjoyment of that, of Danny’s hair falling in waves across his head, amuses Danny. “And not just because I like anything where I get to sit with my arm around you, feel the heat from your body warm me.” He gives Danny a squeeze as if to highlight his comment. “I like it ‘cause  _you_  like it. And I love being with you when you’re doing stuff you love.” 

Danny steps back to look Steve in the face, to say something in response, but he pauses when he sees the look in Steve’s eyes. It looks like Steve might hesitate to continue, so Danny ducks his head back against Steve’s chest, and after he settles there, Steve’s hold on him tightens, and he continues. 

“If you wanna talk about why  _I_  stuck with the restaurant as long as I did,” he whispers, to the top of Danny’s head. “That’s my ‘why’... because you are happy in the kitchen, even when you’re stressed. And  _god_  I love being around that.”

So, maybe Danny burns some of the pancakes, being delightfully distracted in this way (because of course Steve’s admission leads to him being thoroughly kissed by Danny). But the first batch is never any good anyway. The ones after that are fantastic, though, and they’re even better when Steve decides he needs to feed them to Danny with his  _fingers_. 

It’s a little bit of sensory overload, being courted by Steve this way, and Danny basks in it and knows it’ll drive him right round the bend at the same time. Unsurprisingly, they leave breakfast on the kitchen table, half eaten, and tumble roughly into bed with some sort of determination to begin making good use of the different kinds of lubes Steve had selected. 

One of them, Danny notes, is specifically for use in water—and if Danny has to point out that no fucking way is he having sex in the fucking ocean, he will seriously have to punch Steve. But he’s always up for some decent shower sex, more than the usual slippery fumblings—although with his knee, Steve’ll have to do all the hard work. Somehow Danny doubts Steve will mind. 

Another boasts  _special heating action_ , and it’s intended only for massage and prep play, and alright, in total honesty that surprises Danny. He must give something of that reaction away, because Steve gifts him with a wolfish grin, and offers to prove he knows what he’s doing when it comes to sex related massage. Danny doesn’t point out he’s familiar with the use of such oils, them having been a favorite of Rachel’s, but in fairness, he’s never had one used on him. Steve insists on patch testing it somewhere less sensitive than where Danny really wants it (“Trust me, buddy, you do not want to find out you’re allergic the hard way”), and okaaay, he thinks, as the tingly heat seeps into his skin, leaving him feeling like Steve’s still touching him, long after he’s stopped, okay, yep, he could really get into this.

The third and final one is just your basic, water-based, easy-clean-up lube, and Danny loves that because it speaks to practicality. To long-term, frequent use of an easy, daily-use product. And, do not make the mistake of thinking he’s not up for epic fucking sessions that last for hours and need the industrial lube. Because oh god is he. But he has a definite soft spot for a swift but lovely fuck in the morning before work, without needing to change the sheets, and if they’re going to, say, be going out with the team on a week night, after a case, he can foresee the need for some quick attention without having to shower after.

In other words, Danny’s pleased with Steve’s purchases, and he lets him know it. 

Danny’s gratitude kisses get them both ready for more, but Danny notices Steve seeming a tad tentative, as Danny prepares to move forward on the assumption that since he’s been there more recently, he’ll go first. But Steve’s obviously got something on his mind, and he’s hesitating to say it, so Danny pauses and takes Steve by the hands, making him look him in the eyes.

“What’s up, babe?” He asks, softly, but in a way he hopes Steve knows he can’t dismiss. The way he sighs and deflates, it’s clearly worked.

“I’m more than happy to fuck you, Danny. And god I want that. So badly. But I was kind of hoping....” He pauses, and smiles so sweetly at Danny, squeezing gently on his hands as he does. “I was kind of hoping you’d fuck me first. It’s been a while, I’m not going to pretend it hasn’t. But I need to feel you inside me, to know this is real.  _Please don’t think that sounds dumb_.” The last sentence is strung so tightly together it comes out practically as one word. And he presses the waterproof lube into Danny’s hand. “That’s why I got this one. Although I do hold out hope you’ll let me fuck you in the ocean one day—I’m not gonna fight you on that one, Danny. But I wanted the, ahh, extra strength stuff. You know, to make it easier.” 

By the time he finishes, Danny’s nearly dizzy with desire—even the ocean mention doesn’t dampen the heat coursing through him with Steve’s little speech. “Yeah babe, I get that,” he whispers. “I’d be honored. And it doesn’t sound dumb at all. Please don’t  _ever_  think that. Okay?”

Steve had gone soft as he laid out his desire to Danny, but as soon as Danny moves closer, opens the bottle, Steve falls back on the bed, nearly boneless except for the most important bit which starts to rise as he goes totally, fantastically pliant under Danny’s fingers. This is another one for the books, Danny thinks, and don’t shoot him, but dang if he doesn’t find himself wondering if, with them sleeping together, if Steve being more  _pliant_  at work might not be a delightful side effect. 

But he forgets the thought just as soon as he’s had it, because the little noises and the wriggling coming from Steve as Danny starts to open him up are too completely distracting. And maybe Steve underestimated himself because he opens so beautifully beneath Danny’s fingers. When Danny comments on it, Steve insists it’s all Danny—which again, is so fucking flattering, and maybe there’s truth to that, that it’s somehow the rightness of them, because Danny’s never had so easy a time getting someone ready. And as much as he’s enjoying himself, he’s grateful it doesn’t take long, because with how sweetly vocal Steve’s being, he really wants to be inside him  _now_. So he readies himself, and he pauses to offer to switch positions and let Steve ride him, so he can control it, since it’s been a while, but Steve insists “No, I want  _you_  controlling this,” and Danny’d love to analyze that thought, but right now he needs to get inside Steve while he still has a chance of lasting more than ten seconds. 

He eases his way in, giving Steve time to adjust, but it's as though Steve’s been waiting for this moment for so long, and he easily takes every bit of Danny just as though he was made for it, and  _that_  Danny definitely should have seen coming. So he tries to express it, between shallow thrusts, how perfectly they fit together, how that’s always been so clear, and why the fuck have they waited so long. 

That it’s Steve shushing Danny—petting him, soothing him, as he presses deeper into Steve—it shifts something within his chest. Something monumental, something irreparable, something that so clearly says  _yes, this is what you always knew it could be and yet it’s completely surprising and always will be_. 

And that, as Danny starts to fill Steve, bringing him along with a couple soft touches,  _that_  just about sums it all right up. 

They bask in it, for a good long while, then Danny insists on clean sheets, and showers, and  _food_.

“D’you wanna watch another movie?” Steve asks, as he stands, naked and limp, leaning a good deal of his weight on Danny’s shoulders, as he measures detergent into the wash. 

Danny smiles to himself before he turns around in Steve’s embrace, pulling those strong arms around him tightly, loving the contact, savoring the easy slide into intimacy.

“Only if you want to. I kinda don’t feel like I need them so much anymore....”

And of course Steve takes that as the compliment it’s meant to be. “Because being with me is so magical and wonderful, you mean? Like Christmas every day.”

“Mmmm, a little full of yourself, aren’t you,” and Danny smacks him lightly on the ass, ducking under his arm and escaping back towards the bedroom—and a shower.

He’s not so fast, though, as to miss it when Steve’s comeback is “More like full of  _you_  at the moment.” And if Danny wasn’t as old as he is, he thinks he might just go again right then and there. 

Instead he settles for making out with Steve in the shower, and then drinking a beer and watching Steve as he fixes them big bowls of chili and a batch of mini cornbread muffins—both from mixes, but none the less satisfying for it. They eat curled up at opposite ends of the sofa, sock-clad feet pressing together in the middle, while a virtual but oddly warming fire crackles away on the TV, and dang it, but Danny’s a fucking bigger sap than even he’d thought, because it’s so damn cozy, and so ridiculously romantic, he thinks he’s gone completely over the moon. He gets so squirmy with it by the time he’s finished his chili, Steve can’t help but know something’s up, and he sets his bowl down on the coffee table next to Danny’s, and guesses.

“I wish I could say let’s take tomorrow off, but we really do need to go in....”

“Naw, babe, no worries, I know. And it’ll be good to get out of the house.”

Steve shakes his head, chuckling softly. “Well, good, I guess, but I  _was_  kind of hoping we could watch another movie, tomorrow night. You could make your fabulous spaghetti? I’ve... uh, I’ve actually been craving that.”

Danny laughs. He’s not made spaghetti in so long, and Steve had made it no secret that he loves it the best of all of Danny’s dishes, so of course that’s his first request. 

“Oh, is that so? Anything else you’ve been craving?”

“Hmmm. No. Don’t think so....”

Danny prods him with a toe, and eyes him suspiciously. “You wanna re-think that, babe?”

“Well,  _obviously_ ,” Steve shrugs. “If you make me spaghetti, I’ll fuck you senseless after.”

_Bingo_. “That’s better.”

“Okay, sounds good.” Steve’s delighted smile belies his overly mild tone, which amuses Danny. 

“Alright, it’s a date,” he chuckles softly, leaning in to press a light kiss to Steve’s cheek.

“Hey, you know,” Steve muses, when Danny’s leaned back in his corner of the sofa. “We don’t have to do that. The whole dating thing....” Subtle hints of doubt have crept into his voice, as though he doesn’t yet have a sense of how Danny might want this to go (which is of course fair, as Danny really doesn’t know either).

“Mmmm,” Danny replies, as he moves forward on the sofa again, this time crawling fully into Steve’s lap. “No, I do not imagine our relationship will be exactly conventional.”

“Okay. Good.” And maybe Steve does have a sense of what he wants, because he sounds relieved, and more confident. “Because I want to sleep in your bed as many nights a week as you’ll have me, and I don’t need to make a big deal about it, but I am not going to sneak around and hide it, either....”

And he hasn’t honestly thought about it, about the reality of this, but that sounds about right to Danny. It’s not like they don’t already have a damn solid relationship to be getting on with. The idea of just suddenly shifting the basis of that relationship maybe isn’t the most absurd idea ever. And he nearly laughs when he realizes it, because, well, that’s kind of how they do it in the movies. 

“I suppose,” he says, feeling just a tiny bit giddy at the thought. “We  _could_  just skip over all that awkward middle stuff, like they do in the movies. And go directly to a fully-established relationship, in time for Christmas.” 

He feels Steve’s chuckle seep into his skin, and those strong, confident, claiming hands come up to rub Danny’s arms, a gesture that feels both soothing and energizing, and more than a little protective—as though they’d shield Danny from any negatives they could. 

“I think it might be a _little_ more complicated than that,” Steve says softly.   

Which, from the man who claims to have worked it all out... well, probably he has a point. Still. He did insist it wouldn’t be as complicated as Danny’d assumed. And Danny feels a tad peevishly compelled to point that out.

“A _little_ more complicated. But not much, remember?” He mumbles it against Steve’s chest, wrapping himself up in Steve’s solid, warm arms, snuggling in as though it’s his due, which, frankly it probably is. “I can handle a little bit complicated, as long as you’re sleeping in my bed... or I’m sleeping in yours.”

It’s a thought that Steve finds agreeable, if the low, pleased rumble in his chest is any indication. “I  _very_  much like the sound of that.” 

Okay, so maybe it won’t be exactly like in the movies. But Danny’s said he doesn’t want that anyway. Besides. He’s pretty damn sure it’ll be a whole fucking lot better.


End file.
